


Where I'll Land, When I Land

by one_of_those_crushing_scenes



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel 616, Secret Avengers
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Clint Barton, Bittersweet Ending, F/M, M/M, Post-Secret Avengers (2013), Technically canon-compliant, Trigger Warning: Cutting, messy relationships, this is not a kissing book, trigger warning: self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:00:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27580388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_of_those_crushing_scenes/pseuds/one_of_those_crushing_scenes
Summary: After receiving a terse, mysterious message from...himself, somehow (?), Clint Barton realizes that his ex-wife is missing, and he sets off on a mission to find her. Bucky Barnes owes him a favor; surely he’ll agree to partner up again for something this important.
Relationships: Implied Clint Barton/Bobbi Morse, Implied James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	Where I'll Land, When I Land

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CalJordan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalJordan/gifts).



> Inspired by CalJordan's tweet asking for a Winterhawk fic that filled in the gap in their interaction between Winter Soldier (2012) and Tales of Suspense (2017) and what happened to sour Clint and Bucky's relationship. Here's my take on it; you can't prove it didn't happen this way!

His whole body was throbbing, and his arm protested weakly as Clint Barton reached out to turn his shower on. He’d just gotten home from the gym and he must have gone overboard during today’s training, because he was sore in places that he was usually careful not to overwork.

He undressed for the shower as he waited for the bathroom to steam up, frowning as the mirror showed him a pattern of bruises on his chest that he couldn’t explain. This was happening more and more lately, the memories of his workouts and his supervillain skirmishes not quite lining up with the marks he saw on his body.

It was standard for him to get bruised up during fights, of course, and so he brushed it off the first few times, but something was starting to feel very off about this. Usually, he’d be able to point to a mark and remember exactly who caused it, what angle they were coming from, and how much force they used. That was how he got better; how he trained himself to dodge, how he knew where to add extra padding into his costume, and so on.

Something wasn’t adding up, and he didn’t like it, but he was also too exhausted to keep thinking about it right then. Tomorrow, maybe.

Clint tossed his grimy tee shirt into the hamper, then moved to the button at the front of his pants before pausing as his eyes caught on a large gauze bandage fixed to his upper arm, held there by two criss-crossed lines of medical tape. He didn’t remember applying it, didn’t even remember getting any wound on his arm that would have needed bandaging.

Time to mark him down as officially freaked out.

He pulled away the strips of tape so that he could inspect the damage, hoping it would help jog his memory. Instead, what he found underneath the gauze just gave him more questions: it looked like fresh knife wounds, the skin around the lines pink and tender-looking. He traced one of the lines with his fingertips to be sure. Yeah, these were probably made within the past twenty-four hours. It hadn’t even scabbed over yet.

The strangest thing was that they were definitely slice wounds, not stab wounds. Thin, shallow slashes deliberately made in areas where it wouldn’t damage the tendons or strike critical arteries. The cuts weren’t infected and the gauze only had a small amount of blood on it, which meant that the wound had been treated and bandaged as quickly as it had been inflicted. As he stared at the pattern of cuts, he realized that it was a message, and the lines started to come together to form letters, his brain filling in the missing spots.

F-I-N-D.

 _Find._ Okay. Definitely a message, then.

B-O-B-B—his breath caught with fear—I.

Find Bobbi? Since when was Bobbi missing?

A-I-M.

I-S-L-A-N-D.

_Find Bobbi. AIM Island._

His heart rose into his throat. This wasn’t real, this couldn’t be real. He’d seen so many unbelievable things in his life, but a message _carved_ into his skin, which must have been done to him _by_ him, because who else would have done it, but the fact that he couldn’t remember writing it? Something so important that he’d used a knife to engrave a message into his own skin. Not on his forearm, even though it would be easier and less painful—why?

The answer came to him immediately: Because someone would see it. Because Bobbi was in danger and he had known about it but needed to hide the fact that he knew. And somehow, he’d also known that by the time he saw it, he wouldn’t know about the danger anymore.

What the _fuck_ was going on?

\--

“Come on, come on, open up,” Clint muttered under his breath as he rapped out a long series of short knocks at Bobbi’s apartment door. He hadn’t been there that long. Five minutes? She could have been in the shower. And her phone could have just been off because it was out of battery. Or the nearest cell tower was down. Or...

A shadow flickered at the stairwell and a middle-aged man, presumably a neighbor, came up from the stairs and stepped into the hall. He gave Clint a once-over as he passed by on his way to the opposite apartment.

Trying to calm his internal panic, Clint nodded casually. “Hey.”

The neighbor returned a nod as he unlocked his own door. Before it was too late, Clint considered asking when was the last time this man had seen Bobbi, but whatever all the hush was about, it had him acting paranoid. He was running on the assumption that no one could be trusted, not even his own mind, which was why he had a tiny notebook and golf pencil hidden in an elastic running belt underneath his clothing. So he said nothing and waited for the door to close.

Once the neighbor disappeared into his apartment, Clint decided to change tactics. He took a hairpin out of his pocket—a trick he’d learned from Bobbi, actually, and picked the lock. Using a pocket flashlight to check the dust at the door, he confirmed that it was undisturbed, which meant no one had been in or out—at least not through the door—all day.

Inside, the lights were all off, and the apartment was that sort of medium-messy that meant it was lived in. No signs of a struggle. No sign of packing to go anywhere, either. It was as if she’d left to buy eggs and was still out. How long ago, though?

He needed to bring in help.

Using a burner phone he’d picked out of his stash, he called Natasha’s secure line. It rang twice before she picked up.

“Barton.”

“Hey,” he said, “you know some hacker shit, right?”

She snorted. “Yes, I know some ‘hacker shit.’ What do you need? And thank you for asking, I’m quite well.”

“Great, me too,” he retorted, almost smiling at her sass. “I need you to find Bobbi’s phone. It’s off, but there must be a way to do it, right?”

“Track down your ex-wife? Don’t you think that crosses some kind of line?” she asked.

Clint huffed, not wanting to waste time on convincing her. “This isn’t jealous ex stuff. You should know me better than that.”

“Oh? I have two words for you,” Nat shot back with a smirk in her voice, and he regretted having spoken so quickly as he realized what part of their past she was about to throw in his face. “ _San Francisco_.”

Clint groaned into the receiver and pressed his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose. “Man, I wish I could scrub that day from my memory.” The sudden thought that he was now probably dealing with an _actual_ case of scrubbed memories quickly sobered his mood, causing him to regret the joke as soon as it came out of his mouth. “Please, just do it, okay? I promise I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think she was in real trouble.”

“I’ve already started the search,” said Natasha, bless her. “It shouldn’t take longer than a few minutes.”

Clint paced back and forth through Bobbi’s empty kitchen while he waited for an answer. He could feel his stomach tying itself in knots as each second brought him further and further away from whatever had happened to make him send himself that message.

“Okay, I’ve got something,” Natasha finally announced. There was a beat of silence while she presumably read the results, and then she said, “Hmmm.”

She didn’t elaborate, and the frustration was mounting. “Tasha, I’m gonna need more than that!”

“Yes, I know,” she said, her voice distracted. “I’m just...hmmm,” she repeated, but then quickly added, “I tracked her phone to the SHIELD helicarrier. Which shouldn’t be strange, except that I’m currently _on_ the SHIELD helicarrier, and I haven't..." Her voice trailed off for a few seconds." Sorry, I’m just looking for...yes, okay. It’s in a storage cubby. Which means that Bobbi’s probably on a mission for SHIELD. No cause for alarm, then.”

No cause for alarm except for the fucking message fucking engraved in his arm, anyway. It happened all the time that agents or contractors would get into trouble on SHIELD missions and need to be extracted. But _why_ would that need to be kept secret?

Natasha’s voice came back over the line. “Clint? Are you there? I said, she’s just on a job. You don’t need to worry.”

“Right,” he said, then thought better of it and asked, “Hey, Nat, how long have you been on the helicarrier? Did you by any chance see Bobbi before she headed out on this mission?”

A sigh. “A week or so. And no, I haven’t seen her in...I don’t remember, it was when Constrictor tried to tear up that subway station. But, you know, it’s probably an undercover mission. Those take time.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You’re going to ask me to find out, aren’t you.”

“Please, Nat.”

Natasha sighed again. “Okay, I’ll do it. But if Hill finds out that I hacked those files, she’ll have me thrown in the Raft—that's if she’s feeling merciful—so it’ll take me some time to do it with my tracks covered.”

He wasn’t crazy about having to wait, but he also knew Nat wasn’t exaggerating about Hill. “Thank you. Be careful.”

“ _Now_ you tell me to be careful,” she said drily.

He chuckled. “Seriously, though, thank you.”

He considered asking her to keep an eye out for anything to do with AIM Island or Barbuda, but something stopped him. There must have been a reason why he’d gone through all that trouble to keep the information to himself. Natasha could be trusted—usually—but technology could be manipulated. When speaking into a machine, it was impossible to know who would eventually hear you.

After hanging up, Clint took out his notepad and jotted down the date and time, plus a few lines of an update. After tucking it back away, he turned back to the phone.

Next on his list was Bucky Barnes. Fittingly, the last time he and Barnes had worked together was actually to find Natasha, who had been captured by an old Russian enemy of theirs. The guy had used some sort of memory-programming tech in order to erase the last fifteen years of Natasha’s memories, making her think she still worked for the KGB. He and Bucky had managed to track her down and SHIELD had been able to help restore most of her memories. Except the ones of Barnes, who had been her boyfriend at the time, which was fucking heartbreaking all around. Bucky had eventually bowed out, not wanting to push something onto her that she didn’t feel herself, and as far as he knew, the two of them hadn’t spoken since. But Bucky still loved Tasha, so he would get it, Clint was sure.

“What’s up?” came the voice through the line.

“Bobbi,” Clint answered. “She’s missing, her phone’s off, and she didn’t leave a message before she disappeared. I need your help finding her.”

“Wait, what?”

“Bobbi’s missing, keep up.” Again, he kept the message on his arm to himself, but he added, “And I think I have missing memories related to whatever happened. I’m pretty sure that whatever’s buried under there in my brain knows more than I know I know, you know?”

“Sure, I know,” Bucky said, his voice amused.

“Exactly. Hey, since we’re dealing with missing memories, maybe it has something to do with, you know, that guy who...”

“Novokov?” Bucky suggested, naming the guy who’d abducted Natasha.

“That’s it,” Clint said. He’d known it was something with an N. “Can you check in on him, see if we know anything about what he’s been up to?”

“Slow down. When was the last time you saw her?”

“Last week?” He’d been at the Mansion, working on a new formula for putty arrows, and Bobbi had stopped by to talk to Iron Man about something. They’d had an awkward little hello-hello-cheek-kiss-air-kiss thing, and then Bobbi had complimented the arrows, and then she’d left for whatever meeting she’d had with Tony.

“And when did she stop answering her phone?”

“I haven’t tried until today,” Clint admitted. “I don’t know when exactly she disappeared, but time is of the essence. We need to start looking now.”

“I don’t know,” Barnes said slowly, like he was chewing it over, “it seems like kind of a leap. You haven’t really said anything that made me think she’s in any sort of situation she can’t handle.”

It was true, now that he’d said it out loud, that it didn’t sound very convincing. “Trust me, my gut knows these things.”

Barnes _hmmmed_. “Okay, I mean, I think Novokov is still locked up, but I’ll check it out, put out some feelers.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ve got a lead of my own, so I’m going to check it out. I’ll call you once i know more, and we can swap findings.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then Bucky said, “Great,” in a tone of voice that sounded a little too cheerful.

Clint wondered what was up with the tone, but he didn’t ask. He hoped it was just his imagination. Working with Bucky was fun, even if they clashed half the time. He liked the way the guy challenged him, and the brief moments when they were completely in sync and their moves lined up...he hadn’t had a real, permanent partner in crime-fighting since he and Bobbi had been in her spy agency, but he wouldn’t be opposed to working with Barnes more often. One on one. Or even just spending time with him when there was no crisis.

But right now, there was a crisis, which meant no time for contemplation. After saying goodbye to Bucky and hanging up, Clint opened a browser tab on his phone and typed in, “ _flights to Antigua_.”

The next morning, he was in line for the security check when Natasha called back. “There’s no record of Bobbi doing any missions for SHIELD ever since it re-formed,” she reported. “But I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. It’s not uncommon for missions to be kept off the books.”

“Right.” He could feel his jaw clenching, as his best chance for a clear lead evaporated.

“Sorry it’s not more informative,” Natasha said. “But I don’t think there’s any need to worry. She’s survived far—”

“I know what she’s survived,” Clint interrupted with gritted teeth, not wanting to be reminded of all the things he hadn't been able to protect her from. 

“Sorry.” He could hear her backing off, realizing she’d hit a sore spot.

“No, I’m sorry.” He sighed. “You’re right. I’m sure she’s fine.” The truth was, this hadn’t put his mind at ease one bit, but there was no point in trying to keep going once you hit a dead end. “Thanks a ton,” he told Natasha. “I owe you one.”

He hung up and waited for the line to move, which it didn’t. The longer he stood still, the more restless he got. His arm itched underneath the new bandage, but he resisted the urge to scratch and have it start bleeding again. After ten minutes where he didn’t even get to the end of the row, Clint dialed Bucky’s number. No answer.

A minute later, a text message came in from Barnes: _No reception, can’t talk. Will call as soon as I can._

Must have been on a mission of his own. Spy stuff. God, he hated spy stuff.

\--

Clint hid in the bushes, holding his bow steady. He’d been here for over two hours, waiting for his chance, feeling his ass starting to get progressively more and more numb. Groups of AIM scientists in beekeeper uniforms had passed by a few times, but he didn’t want to attract attention, so he’d stayed still until the perfect opportunity came by. Now, a single uniformed scientist had just left the building and was all alone to be picked off.

At the perfect moment, he let the arrow fly. It whizzed through the air and struck the ground right in front of the man who was Clint’s target, at which point he knew the arrow would start to diffuse a clear, odorless gas.

Proving that scientists weren’t always the sharpest tools or whatever when it came to their own self-preservation, the guy took off his helmet, squatted down to get a better look at the arrow, and instantly keeled over in a faint as the gas took effect.

Ha. Perfect. Making sure the coast was clear, Clint hid his bow in his duffel bag in the bushes, then hurried over to the guy’s prone body and started dragging him to a shadowed corner on the side of the building. The gas would keep him knocked out for an hour at most, so he had to be quick about this.

Underneath his yellow jumpsuit, the guy was wearing an undershirt and work pants—Clint had always wondered. He peeled the guy’s uniform off and put it on over his own clothing, then went back to where the arrow had landed to get the helmet—and to retrieve the arrow, to make sure no one found it.

The jumpsuit was at least a size too small and clearly made for someone half a foot shorter than him. Better than nothing, but damn, this made him wish he’d come with backup. Bucky never would have let him choose a target so impulsively. Where was he, anyway? Hopefully, not doing anything _too_ dangerous.

Inside the building, scientists were teeming, rushing back and forth between rooms like there were fifty different urgent projects going on. Clint picked up the speed, trying to fit in with the rest of the—well, busy bees was the only description that came to mind, even as he mentally scolded himself for the terrible pun.

At the next hall crossing, he stopped a random guy walking in his direction. “Hey, can I borrow your eyes for something?”

“Sure, where are we going?”

Clint did a quick mental sweep of the hallways and picked the one that looked the quietest. “This way.” They started walking, and although his original plan had been to corner the guy and threaten him for information, he thought of a better idea. “It’s crazy in here today,” Clint said casually.

“Absolutely,” the guy agreed.

Clint took a breath for courage and moved on to the next part of his plan. “Anything to do with Mockingbird?” he asked.

Thank God, the guy took the bait. “I think it’s more about Forson. But I’ve heard rumors it’s all connected. Although who’s to say what’s the truth, you know?”

He couldn’t believe this was actually working. His experiences with espionage were few and far between, and he’d never done anything like this on his own. “Oh yeah?” Clint said, trying to sound as laid-back as possible. “How do you mean?”

“You know Miller’s been saying he saw her taken out with a bullet to the head, and those SHIELD guys got away with the corpse,” the guy continued.

 _The corpse._ Clint suddenly felt cold and weak all over. The bile rose from his stomach, and he almost missed the floor with his next step. But he forced himself to keep walking, and the helmet prevented his face from giving him away.

The guy kept talking. “But I’ve got it on good authority that she was the one who put Forson in the infirmary, and she obviously couldn’t have done that dead. I guess she was just grazed, if she was actually shot at all. You know how Miller runs his mouth.”

The guy turned his head toward Clint, prompting him to agree. “Don’t I know,” Clint said, with a nervous laugh. So that was okay, maybe. She probably wasn’t dead, if she was attacking people. Forson...he barely knew anything about the guy, seen him on TV a few times. Some new high-up in AIM, not like they didn’t change management every week. Who could keep up? Not Clint, he was never the type to memorize profiles and politics.

“And Brewer says she was with us all along, just playing double agent with SHIELD and the Avengers. But then why would Forson want to kill her? Unless it wasn’t Forson who set the gun up on her, maybe the whole reason SHIELD came in was damage control, to silence her before she could give away all their secrets.”

The nausea was coming back. There was no way Bobbi was a double agent, but if SHIELD thought she was, what would they do?

“But then again,” the guy was saying, “no one’s seen...” he kept on going, but Clint wasn’t listening anymore. Was this why there were no records of her being on assignment, why he’d felt it was necessary to hide the message to himself? Was SHIELD the danger that Clint had warned himself about? Were _they_ the reason Bobbi was in danger?

After talking more to himself than to Clint for, like, ten minutes, the guy turned to him and said, “Wasn’t there something you wanted to show me?”

“That’s right.” Although it seemed like this guy had given him everything he needed. Now, how to get rid of him without raising the alarm... “You know what, we overshot the room. And—” making a show of looking at his watch, “—I have to run to a meeting. I’ll catch up with you after lunch?” Without leaving the guy time to respond, Clint kept walking straight all the way down the hallway until he reached the building’s exit. He didn’t stop there, leaving the building and following the path to the beach, continuing to move until he found an isolated spot near a hedge, then pulled out his phone to call Barnes and tell him everything. 

Halfway to pulling his glove off, Clint realized that if he called now, the network activity would be picked up and someone would definitely notice that he was calling from AIM Island. That information would get to SHIELD, and if his suspicions were correct...

But no. Now that he thought about it. That was ridiculous. Sure, SHIELD sometimes got up to some shady shit, but they’d never hurt an Avenger. And Bobbi...Fury had been like a father to her, once.

But this wasn’t Fury’s SHIELD. Still, Hill was on their side, too, right? He’d fought alongside her a time or two. She wasn’t the friendliest person he’d ever teamed up with, but she wasn’t the worst, either. Doctor Druid and Red Hulk beat her by a mile in that department.

It didn’t make any sense, and at the same time, he couldn’t completely discount the idea. If SHIELD really wanted to...eliminate...Bobbi, and he knew about it, then of course they would use whatever tools they had at their disposal to erase his memory. Even if she _was_ a double agent, even if she was working for AIM, Hydra, the Skrulls, whoever...Clint would never let her be hurt. Apprehended, imprisoned—maybe. But not harmed.

Not that he believed it. He’d known her for too long, too well. Sure, she kept secrets, and sure, they didn’t always agree when it came to methods, but he knew her soul, and if there was anyone he knew who’d dedicated their life to make the world a better place, it was his ex-wife.

His notebook. Maybe that would help. He pulled it out and wrote down all twenty conflicting stories he’d just heard, then read them all again, trying to figure out how they could all fit together into some version of the truth. He’d been terrified when that guy had said “bullet to the head.” Even if he and Bobbi weren’t together, even if they were never going to be together again, she would always own part of his soul. The last time he’d thought she was dead, it had made him question everything he’d thought he’d known about himself, his place in the world, the Avengers, everything. He didn’t know what he would do if that ever happened again.

But it didn’t seem like that was the case. So now what he had to do was focus. Look at the facts. Piece things together.

If Forson was in the infirmary after being attacked, then there would be some sort of crime scene. Which would have been cleaned up...by a janitor. Who would know where else on the island there had been blood that had needed to be cleaned up. The question was, how could he question the janitors, again without letting AIM know they’d been infiltrated.

Checking his watch, Clint found that he had between thirty and forty minutes left before the owner of his suit woke up. It wasn’t a ton of time, but if he was lucky...

His luck held, and he found a janitor mopping in the second-floor bathroom. A few minutes of small talk led to an opening, and he learned that at the scene where Forson had been attacked, there was a trail of blood leading away, and long strands of blond hair had been found in between the fingers of his gloves. According to the guy Clint was speaking to, Mockingbird must have crawled, bleeding, away from the platform, until she reached the exit, at which point—”like she’s got some kind of magical healing powers”—she got up and ran, leaving no blood trail, just foot tracks that led to the beach on the southern side of the island.

That was good news, really good news. “Magical healing powers” fit the description, since she had that Infinity Formula Clint had forced Fury to give her that one time, and the southern part of the island was the direction Clint himself had come from. Which made sense, because it had the closest airport in the region not controlled by AIM.

Time was running out. Clint made his excuses and went outside to where he’d left the sleeping owner of his uniform, but the guy was gone. He must have woken up and walked away, but maybe he was still too out of it to sound the alarm...

It didn’t matter; he’d gotten what he’d come for. Clint ran back to where his gear was stored, shucked the beekeeper’s outfit, grabbed the duffel bag, and went back down to the beach. One spray from the Pym particle canister was enough to turn his rental jet ski back to operational size, and off he went.

The next part of the search was a little bumpier. He knew all of Bobbi’s fake identities, and none of them had flown out of the airport in Antigua, but she had, apparently, rented a kayak from one of the tourist places. That trail took him island-hopping for a while, until he got a lead in Martinique. He booked a ticket there and called Barnes from the gate while waiting for his flight.

“Oh, you called, good,” Barnes said, without saying hello. “I spoke to some guys. Novokov is on house arrest, but I was able to get access to his home computer—” 

Clint cut him off before he could finish. “Forget Novokov. I don’t know what I was thinking. What would Novokov want with Bobbi?” He shook his head, even though Barnes obviously couldn’t see it. “No, I have a totally different direction now, but it needs to be in person. Can you meet me?”

“I wish I could, but...” the line dissolved into static.

“What was that? I didn’t catch you.”

The static lasted for another three or four seconds, and then Bucky said, “I’m out of the country. Classified stuff. Listen, send me the info and I’ll check it out.”

“Not over a digital network,” Clint said. “Too much of a risk. When will you be back?”

He was answered with more crackling on the line, which then disconnected. It was disappointing; he’d hoped they’d be able to work together in person on this. They made a good team last time. Bucky was fun and Clint felt a certain chemistry with him when they weren’t arguing. And, yeah, the guy was good-looking. Maybe they were both in love with women who were too good for them, but when Clint was around Bucky, his pain about Bobbi didn’t feel so acute. He hoped that the same was true in reverse, but then why would Bucky be blowing him off?

\--

It wasn’t easy. Clint knew a lot about arrows, he knew a lot about hand-to-hand combat, and he knew a lot about winning over a tough crowd of reporters, but undercover work was something else. Luckily, one more thing he knew a lot about was thinking on his feet, and he was able to make the most from the little clues he got.

The trail from Martinique led him to West Virginia, which led him to Pennsylvania, which led him to what turned out to be a false lead in Hawaii, which led him back to Pennsylvania, then to Vancouver, and two weeks after he’d initially set out, he finally caught up with them outside of Sedona, Arizona.

The address he’d dug up turned out to be a cute little cottage, rented under the same fake name as the airline booking. When Clint pulled up at ten in the morning, he could hear voices coming around from the backyard, so he went around to check it out. The house was surrounded by lush green foliage, the sunlight peeking through the leaves and giving everything a beautiful dappled effect. In the distance, there was an amazing view of the canyons, red caves jutting out into endless miles of blue sky. And in the backyard, around a picnic table covered with breakfast foods, sat Bobbi, Daisy Johnson, and Bucky Barnes.

Time seemed to stop as he took it all in: Daisy, wearing a white floppy sun hat with a super large brim, Bobbi with a necklace with an enormous sunflower, and Barnes in cargo shorts and flip-flops. This was the first time Clint had seen Barnes in civilian clothing since back when he’d lived in his apartment, and he’d certainly never seen his _toes_ before.

So he’d finally done it, finally found her. He’d figured out that she wasn’t traveling alone, although the descriptions he’d heard hadn’t made it clear who her companions were. Barnes had a sleeve for his metal arm for incognito purposes, and he never would have guessed about Daisy. He didn’t know her very well, other than that she was a former protege of Nick Fury—like Bobbi—and that she’d worked with the Avengers a bunch of times.

The idyllic, Pinterest-worthy scene in front of him struck such a glaring contrast to the fear that had been his driving force throughout the journey that his brain shut down for a moment, literally unable to process what he was seeing. He opened his mouth to speak but he’d forgotten why he was there, forgotten what he wanted to say, forgotten how to make sounds come out of his mouth.

As he came out into the open, the three of them noticed him. They stopped what they were doing, staring at him in as much surprise as he felt. Barnes stopped short holding a tray of fruit, and Bobbi with her coffee cup halfway to her mouth.

Slowly, the feeling started to come back into his body. First question: “Are we in danger?” he said in an undertone, looking around the area, feeling stupid.

Daisy blinked.

“No,” Bobbi answered evenly, as if she understood his fear and how important it was to establish this first. “We’re not in danger.”

Not currently, or not at all? “Is SHIELD trying to kill you?” he asked her.

The look of surprise on her face was enough to answer that one. “No, not at all.”

Relief washed over him, followed by hollowness. There was no danger. All along, everything was all right. Bobbi was safe and...with friends. The same _friends_ who’d been assuring him for the past two weeks that they were looking for her with all the same urgency that—

Urgency, what a joke. It was funny, it was funny, it—one day he was going to look back at this and laugh, right? Carrying this secret, switching persona after persona after persona to get information, eight commercial flights, questions, questions, lies, secrets, stories, holes in his memory, no sleep, no sleep, secrets, secrets, lies— 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay,” Clint said, feeling like he was standing at the edge of a cliff, bouncing on the balls of his toes to keep his balance. He pulled his left sleeve up to his shoulder and ripped away the bandage. “Then will somebody please explain to me what the hell _this_ all about?”

They all looked confused. “Your shoulder?” Daisy said.

Clint looked. The marks were all healed. Right, well, it had been two weeks. So instead of showing them, he told them the story of what had brought him there: the post-workout soreness, discovering the bandage, uncovering the sliced skin, finding the message carved into his arm.

“‘Find Bobbi, AIM Island,’ that’s what it said,” Clint told them, running his fingers over the smooth skin of his deltoid, feeling the ghost of the impressions of the cuts that had started this whole thing.

They kept looking at him in shocked silence, Daisy’s frittata hanging out of her mouth.

“It has to mean something,” Clint continued, aware that his voice had just jumped an octave. “I wrote that message and I don’t remember writing it and it has to mean something.” His breath caught in his throat and he begged, “ tell me it means something.”

Bobbi, Bucky, and Daisy all exchanged uncertain glances, and then Bobbi set down her coffee cup and spoke. “I _was_ on AIM Island,” she admitted.

Clint closed his eyes and felt his lungs fill up with air again. When he reopened them, Bobbi’s own eyes were red-rimmed.

“I escaped,” she continued in a brittle voice. “Obviously. And since then, I’ve been moving around.”

“We’re taking some time off,” Daisy added.

Barnes still hadn’t said anything. That lying son of a— 

“The missing memories,” Bobbi said, interrupting his thoughts. “We can explain that, too.”

“You signed up for a secret SHIELD team where they injected you with nanobots that gave Hill the power to erase parts of your short-term memory,” Daisy explained matter-of-factly. “Bobbi did, too. Your nanobots are still active, but while you’re here, I can remove them, I have the antidote in the house.”

He heard the words, but it took a few seconds for the meaning to sink in. It explained the missing memories, but it didn’t feel like a satisfactory answer. What she said left him with so many questions that he didn’t even know where to begin.

“You...you’re saying you can reverse it?” Clint asked.

“You won’t get your memories back,” Daisy answered. She spoke in an impassive tone, but the expression on her face was apologetic. 

Of course not. “Why would Hill erase my memories of Bobbi being in danger?”

“Because it happened on a mission for the team,” Bobbi said. “They erased every mission after they ended. I mean, they even erased your memory of _being_ on the team.”

He could feel himself shutting down again, all of this being too much for him to process.

“You should eat something,” Barnes suggested. “And maybe take a shower. Let your mind get used to the idea.”

Oh, _now_ he had something to say. Well, screw him. Although...the food did look good. And he hadn’t showered in who knows how long. He probably looked pretty scary, stumbling into the yard all tired and dirty the way he had.

Clint shot a glare in Barnes’s direction at the same time that he approached the table. He gave a quick scan to the spread, then picked up a blueberry muffin. “I’ll take this. And I’ll take that shower. But that doesn’t mean we’re all good here.” He looked back at Bobbi, who was still holding herself stiffly, and wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Daisy, who looked sorry to be caught in the middle of something that wasn’t exactly her business. “Right.” Taking the muffin with him, Clint started to walk towards the back door of the cottage.

"Want me to show you where the towels are?" Barnes offered.

"I'll find it myself," Clint responded coldly with his back to the group. In an undertone, he added, "I have plenty of practice at that."

\--

It was early afternoon when Clint woke up, the room shaded just enough to help him sleep. A digital clock on the nightstand displaying the time in green LCD numbers. Next to the clock sat his hearing aids.

He was still groggy from Daisy’s antidote, and he was tempted to go back to sleep, but a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye pulled him out of his lethargy. Blinking, he picked up the hearing aids and inserted them, then dragged himself up to a seated position. Bobbi was sitting at the foot of the bed, reading something on her phone, but she put it down as he sat up, then gave him an encouraging smile and asked, “How are you feeling?”

Clint wondered how long she’d been there. Out loud, he said, “Umm...normal, I guess.” He stretched out his arms overhead to confirm. The tiredness had passed, and now he just felt like his usual self. It was a little disappointing. “I was kind of hoping I’d understand more now,” he admitted.

“Yeah, kind of anticlimactic,” she agreed. “Still, I don’t think you would feel better if you did. Sometimes suppressed memories can be a blessing.”

“So this SHIELD team we were part of...”

Bobbi shook her head. “It was a mistake to agree to the terms.”

He studied her face, trying to read it, but her expression was impenetrable. “Why did we do it?”

“That’s one of the things I don’t remember,” she said. “Daisy knows, I think. But I haven’t asked her. I’m not sure I want to know.”

It wasn’t as easy for him to let it go. Was it blackmail? He’d never fully trusted SHIELD and their lack of accountability, and he wouldn’t put it past them to...well, not threaten him, maybe, but put him in a position where he would feel like he had no choice to agree to something they wanted.

Bobbi was quiet, playing with her fingers, looking just past him. What was she thinking? Was she really safe here? If so, why had she disappeared without a trace? How did she feel about the fact that he’d shown up like this?

Instead of voicing any of those questions, he said the only thing he could bring himself to ask. “What now?”

“Well,” she said, “it sounds like you and Bucky have a few things to work out.” At his obvious bristle, she continued, “You should hear him out. There’s something between the two of you, more than I realized.”

Clint couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice, even for her sake. “Apparently not.”

She sighed, and for a few moments, neither of them said anything. Then Bobbi opened her mouth. “You know, I used to think that you and I would be together for the rest of our lives. And even once I realized that might not happen, even though it's because of me, because of how much I've changed, the idea of you being with someone else...it terrified me.”

The idea that he could be a source of pain to her killed him. He’d loved her so much, and he’d wanted to make things work so badly. “Bobbi, I—”

"I know I don't own you,” she continued, holding up her hand to indicate she hadn’t finished speaking, “and I never wanted to _stop_ you from moving on, I just thought that when you met the right person, it would hurt too much, and I would have to back out of your life so that I wouldn't have to see it."

He opened his mouth again, but she still wasn’t done.

“Wait,” she said, holding him off some more. “What I’m trying to say is, I can’t give you what you need. I’m not that person anymore, and I don’t have it in me. But I think there is someone who can.”

Bucky Barnes. Maybe at one point, Clint would have thought so, too. But after what had just happened, how could he ever trust the guy again?

“Not that you need my approval on who to date,” she added quickly. “I’m just saying, I think you could be good for each other. And...I’m okay with that. Not that you need my approval,” she repeated.

Trust was the issue all around, it seemed. Clint had trusted Bucky, and Bucky had lied to him. Maybe he’d had a good reason. Maybe Bobbi was right, and he needed to hear him out. But what good were reasons, if the trust was broken?

For that matter, up until now, there had still been a part of him that had believed he and Bobbi weren’t truly over. But now he understood—all of these attempts of hers at being part of a group that had ended up with her being left alone had chipped away at something in her and left her so that she couldn’t trust anyone else, not fully, not in a way that could be the foundation of a healthy relationship. That was why she’d initially lied to him about the Phantom Rider back in the day. Why she’d started sleeping in the WCA headquarters a few weeks before they’d broken up this past time. It was why she’d disappeared without a trace just now, after her experience on AIM Island.

He wanted to argue, wanted to point out that he’d once won her back by promising that he would always find her and that he’d just made good on that promise. But what good would it do? The last time he’d pushed too hard, he’d pushed on the cracks in their relationship until it broke, and he couldn’t break whatever they had left. It was too precious.

“I understand,” he said. They stood up at the same time, getting ready to say goodbye. He wanted to hug her, to somehow show her that whatever she was going through, he accepted it, and that if she ever felt like she _could_ reach out to someone again, he would be there. Slowly, he extended an arm, giving her time to stop him.

And she did, stopping him with a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just not in a place...”

“It’s fine,” Clint assured her. They clasped hands and stood in each other’s space for a minute, not getting closer, but not turning away from each other.

“Clint,” Bobbi finally said as she dropped his hand. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

She smiled. “You know. Coming.”

 _I love you. I’ll always find you._ It was on the tip of his tongue. But instead, he just said, “It was good to see you.”

After she left, Barnes came in, and Clint’s mood shifted immediately.

“I know you’re mad,” Bucky said, closing the door behind him.

“Little bit of an understatement,” Clint retorted. Once the door closed completely, he lowered his voice and took a step forward. “How could you leave me in the dark like that? When Natasha was missing, I dropped _everything_ for you!”

Bucky winced. “I know, I should have—but you have to understand, it wasn’t the same situation. Bobbi wasn’t in danger.”

“And how long did you know that she wasn’t in danger?” Clint demanded.

“You mean, how long was I lying to you,” Bucky said. He lowered his eyes and answered his own question. “It—it was the whole time.” Before Clint could process his outrage, he added, “I didn’t tell Bobbi you called, so don’t be mad at her. It was my choice—I thought she needed a break where she didn’t have to think about anything that had to do with real life. And I didn’t tell you I was with her, because I figured you’d show up even if I asked you not to.”

Clint wanted to be offended at that, but he knew himself—and his impulsive habits—well enough to know that it was the truth.

“I lied to you about putting out feelers because I wanted to reassure you, and I thought that if you thought I had it under control, you’d maybe...put less of an effort into it.”

“Oh, like you put less of an effort when Natasha was in danger.”

“I...yeah,” Bucky said, conceding the point. “Okay. I guess I...miscalculated.”

“What a way to put it,” Clint said bitterly. He took a deep breath. “I’ve been there before, you know. I know now that it was a Skrull pretending to be her, but when she died, when I thought she died...right in front of me. I couldn’t take it. It was like I’d lost the other half of me, and she sacrificed herself to save me. I lost it, I couldn’t deal with my normal life. I went to live in the wilderness for a while, just, like, camping out in the woods for weeks, just so I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone who wasn’t her.”

“I know,” Barnes said sympathetically.

Clint tilted his head. “You’ve heard this story?” He didn’t remember telling it, but there were enough people who would remember that part of his history who might have mentioned it. Rhodey, Walker, Wanda...Nat, even.

“Another version of it,” Barnes replied. “When I ‘died,’ Steve carried my memory around like an albatross. And it was even worse when he found out the truth. All that time he’d thought I was dead, I was actually a captive of the Soviets, and what they did to me...it’s hell on him. I try not to talk about it with him.”

Clint thought about Bobbi having been captured by the Skrulls, trapped for three years on one of their outer planets, so far away from home. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t know much of the details of those three years. She didn’t talk much about it either—at least not with him.

“It’s not his fault, what happened to me,” Barnes continued. “But he’ll never stop feeling like it is. So I cover it up when he’s around.” He gave Clint a rueful smile. “Sometimes my own experiences feel like they’re more about his guilt than my life.”

Clint frowned. “You’re trying to tell me that Bobbi feels like she can’t talk about what she went through with the Skrulls when I’m around?”

“You’re more insightful than you look,” Barnes said.

As if they were in a place right now where it was okay for him to tease. “Don’t test me right now, pal.”

“Sorry. I really am. I did what I thought was best for her.”

“By letting me think she was in danger or dead, let’s not forget that part,” Clint said. “I’m real fucking glad you have Bobbi’s best interests at heart, I am, but I called you, and I asked for your help, and you lied to my face.”

“I had to make a choice,” Barnes said. His jaw was tight, his eyes pleading for...not forgiveness, because he wasn’t apologizing, but what?

Clint shook his head. “I thought you understood me.”

“I thought you understood me, too.”

Clint could feel his heart growing cold. Whatever there was between them, whatever Bobbi had been referring to when she’d said Bucky could be what he needed...it wasn’t what he’d hoped. It couldn’t be, if they were stuck on either side of the argument, if neither one of them could reach over and bridge that gap. He felt sick, like when he and Bobbi had broken up after Crossfire and Jaime Slade, except worse this time, because at least then, he knew he’d given it his all. At least then, he’d loved and lost.

Now, he’d just lost.

Bucky sighed. “I did this all wrong,” he admitted. “You know, we all need this. You could use the break, too. Why don’t you stay with us for the rest of the week? There’s plenty of room.”

He was tempted to say yes. In any other circumstances, at any other time, he would have said yes. A week out in nature with two of his favorite people?

But not like this. Not if it was going to hurt Bobbi’s recovery, not if he would spend the entire time resenting Bucky for trying to keep him away and wonder if the invitation had come out of pity. Not even wonder—he was 90% sure it was pity. They hadn’t wanted him there to begin with. Bucky had purposely tried to throw him off the track. And maybe he was right. Maybe these two of his favorite people were better off without him.

“Thanks,” Clint said. “But I should get going.”

Bucky opened his mouth, as if he were going to say something, but then he closed it again.

Yeah. Like he'd thought. Better off without him.

**Author's Note:**

> References to canon events:
> 
> Most of the references in this fic having to do with AIM or SHIELD or memories being erased are from Secret Avengers (2013).
> 
> Novokov, Natasha having memories erased, and Clint and Bucky’s earlier teamup are from Winter Soldier (2012) #10-14.
> 
> The Crossfire and Jaime Slade event is from Hawkeye & Mockingbird (2010), although Crossfire and Phantom Rider, separately, have been recurring nemeses for these two.
> 
> Clint promising Bobbi he'd always find her is from New Avengers: The Reunion #4.
> 
> “San Francisco” is from Daredevil #99, and it's a treat.
> 
> \------------
> 
> I love comments! Also feel free to get in touch with me via Twitter ([@ootcscenes](https://twitter.com/ootcscenes)) or Tumblr ([@ootcs](http://ootcs.tumblr.com/)).


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